


Ravenous

by sciencefictioness



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Bloodplay, Gore, M/M, Sibling Incest, Soulmates, There's A Lot Of Blood In Case You Missed It, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-25 04:49:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12523360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciencefictioness/pseuds/sciencefictioness
Summary: The bloodletting ritual is merely a formality at this point, an exercise in futility.  Tradition demands it, but no one really expects anything to come of tonight.  It’s been centuries since an awakening celebration has actually yielded a mate for the awakened.  That doesn’t stop dozens of unbonded clan members from making eyes at Genji, licking over their teeth suggestively, offering their throats.  Not that it would sate his hunger were he to drink from them, or theirs, should Genji return the favor.If Genji was their bloodmate, they would know.  Would have known from miles away, weeks ago, the first time his fangs broke through the smooth skin of his wrist.Would have known at their own awakenings, as Hanzo knew years before, when he’d come into his true nature and breathed Genji in like a drug.  Even without the bloodletting, without the scent of Genji raw and potent in his lungs, Hanzo knew.Genji calls to him like a siren.  As he always has, except thousandfold now, the thirst in Hanzo a living thing that wants to consume him.





	Ravenous

**Author's Note:**

> //blows a kiss to discord
> 
> Many thanks to kinks, who is a scholar and a gentleman and deserves all the love.
> 
> This piece is very bloody, so if that's not your thing, you probably also want to skip this. Mind the tags, and enjoy.

The clan elites are gathered together, along with most of their high ranking allies.  They crowd the banquet hall in Shimada castle, eager to impress, wearing extravagant clothing.  Silk kimonos and jade necklaces.  Ivory in their hair, gold on their fingers, eyes lined in black.  It’s noisy, too many voices all chattering at once, opium smoke wisping thick through the air until everything is hazy and dreamlike.  

 

Sojiro holds court in the back of the hall, the elders sprawling out on either side of a long, low table, watching the proceedings with interest as they discuss clan dealings.  Which other families are encroaching on their territory, the nests of yokai springing up in the forests to the east, the decline of the human population in the villages north of Hanamura.  Hanzo is there, despite being young and unmated. He sits at his father’s side, not paying attention to their conversation, unable to feign more than the most cursory interest in anything they’re saying.

 

Hanzo’s head hurts, and his jaw is tight, and he’d rather be anywhere else.

 

Except.

 

Genji’s laughter is achingly beautiful, even wasted as it is on his current audience.  Men and women press in close, members of their allied clans, smiling and touching his arms, his face, his hair.  Their fangs extend from the scent of blood in the air, eyes glowing vivid red, need swirling in them.  Unsated bloodlust, all of them unbonded, a hunger Hanzo knows all too well clawing incessantly at their veins.  

 

Genji goes through the motions of the bloodletting with each of them, biting into his forearm and touching it to their mouths as they mirror the gesture.  The sight of his brother’s blood smeared over their lips is an affront to Hanzo’s senses.  

 

It doesn’t belong to them.  Every single drop is precious.

 

Stolen.

 

The bloodletting ritual is merely a formality at this point, an exercise in futility.  Tradition demands it, but no one really expects anything to come of tonight.  It’s been centuries since an awakening celebration has actually yielded a mate for the awakened.  That doesn’t stop dozens of unbonded clan members from making eyes at Genji, licking over their teeth suggestively, offering their throats.  Not that it would sate his hunger were he to drink from them, or theirs, should Genji return the favor. 

 

If Genji was their bloodmate, they would know.  Would have known from miles away, weeks ago, the first time his fangs broke through the smooth skin of his wrist.

 

Would have known at their own awakenings, as Hanzo knew years before, when he’d come into his true nature and breathed Genji in like a drug.  Even without the bloodletting, without the scent of Genji raw and potent in his lungs, Hanzo knew.

 

Genji calls to him like a siren.  As he always has, except thousandfold now, the thirst in Hanzo a living thing that wants to consume him.

 

But Genji was still human back then, his power sleeping within, waiting to rise up and make him immortal.  Still fragile, still vulnerable.

 

Still breakable, and if Hanzo had sunk in his teeth like he wanted, he would have drained Genji dry in an instant.  

 

So Hanzo fights the way Genji pulls at him, drawing him down.  Stronger than any undertow, trying to drown them both in a sea of vicious, unmerciful need.  Seeing Genji day in and day out is the worst kind of misery, Hanzo’s eyes lingering on the curve of his throat, the bright white of his fangs.  Training with him is like crawling into a fire and trying not to be consumed by it.

 

Like tugging Genji into an open flame, and struggling to keep him unscathed.

 

Hanzo is surprised that he manages to win most of their matches.  It’s impossible for him not to arch into Genji’s touch, not to clutch at his skin.  Impossible not to pin Genji beneath him, eyes alight.  Press his face into Genji’s throat.  Open his mouth, scrape sharp teeth over Genji’s pulse.

 

He leaves the dojo early time and time again, citing whatever excuses he can come up with and fleeing Genji’s presence.

 

Hanzo locks himself in his room in moments of weakness, and sinks his fangs into his own forearm.  Whimpering, free hand buried in his gi as he works his cock furiously, frantically drinking from himself.  It’s pathetic, mouth full of his own blood, shaking all over as he comes into his fist, chest heaving.

 

It’s the closest he’ll get to tasting his brother right now, the same blood running through their veins.  Barely enough to take the the dangerous edge off his thirst, a pale echo of what it would be like to drink from Genji, but it’s all Hanzo allows himself.

 

Temptation is like a knife, and if Hanzo gives it an inch, he’ll gut them both until there’s nothing left.

 

-

 

_ The celebration is critical for the strength of our family,  _ Sojiro says in the days after Genji’s eyes slide from copper into crimson, watching them both with an intensity that feels accusatory.   _ Our allies need to think they’re currying favor with the second son of the Shimada clan.   _

 

Hanzo is savagely loyal when it comes to his family, but that loyalty begins with Genji, and no one else.  Everything else is secondary. 

 

Hanzo would burn the whole world to the ground to keep Genji safe, as long as he could live with him in the ashes.  He doesn’t care about the feelings of their allied clans, or the expectations of his family.  Not where Genji is concerned.  His brother is more important.

 

His  _ mate  _ is more important.

 

The moment Genji shifts from human into something more, Hanzo  _ feels  _ it.  The sensation tears him from slumber, an awareness that runs down into his blood, into his bones.  His heart, his lungs, his teeth, every inch of Hanzo drawn to Genji like gravity.  He’s out of his bed before he can stop himself, all but running through the halls of the castle.  Growling low, the glow of his eyes bright enough to light his path in eerie red.

 

Hanzo is ready to make Genji his own, to tattoo his teeth into Genji’s throat.  Has been ready.  It’s like an old wound that never heals, one he tears open and picks at until the pain of it is all he is, all he knows.  He’s craved Genji since before he understood what it meant, that emptiness in him that is only ever soothed when his brother is near.

 

Genji fills all the hollow places inside Hanzo, until it’s hard to breathe with how much he  _ wants. _

 

Genji’s  _ his,  _ and now he’s turned, and Hanzo has waited long enough.  Fuck the clan, and their allies, and his father’s plans to use Genji like a chess piece.  It’s time to get lost in Genji, in his heat and his blood and his flesh.

 

Hanzo is starved, and desiccated, and only Genji can make him whole.

 

Except.

 

Genji is in the temple with Sojiro when Hanzo finds him in the midst of the binding ritual, symbolically tying him to the clan.  He kneels at the altar, a few of the elders around him, all of them with gory wrists.  Genji’s sword lays across his lap, a crimson streak up the blade, and Hanzo can smell it from the entryway, the decadent spill of Genji’s blood.  It’s hard to look away, the red drops shimmering in the firelight, Hanzo’s teeth growing longer in his mouth.

 

His hands shake, and his heart pounds, and  _ gods,  _ Hanzo needs to  _ drink. _

 

Genji wraps his palm around the blade, and drags it up the metal again, lips moving around the  binding, rote and unfeeling.  Phrases he’s had drilled into him since he was a child, the cadence and flow automatic.  The ritual is not a surprise, but there is a hierarchy to their traditions, an order.  A mate takes precedence over everything else,  the elders wouldn’t dare stand in the way, no matter how impatient they were to have Genji clan bound and subservient.  Have they really forced Genji here, the pull of his bloodmate so overwhelming it was painful to resist, Hanzo already running through the halls of the castle to get to him?  

 

Genji looks over his shoulder and sees Hanzo there, backlit by moonlight in the door of the temple.  His eyes flare bright, and he stares, caught in Hanzo’s gaze.

 

Then he looks away, continuing the ritual as if nothing has happened, and dread roils thick in Hanzo’s guts.

 

Does Genji not feel it?

 

Impossible.

 

There are no one sided mates.  More than two, on rare occasions, but the bond is always reciprocated, and there is no mistaking what he feels for Genji.  It can be nothing else but the pull of a mate, the irresistible tug of blood, the only thing that will ever soothe the merciless yearning of Hanzo’s thirst.  There is more than brotherhood between them.

 

There is the promise of eternity, Genji in his arms, and in his mouth, and in his veins.

 

But Genji isn’t the type to deny himself anything.  He would not obediently murmur out oaths at the elders’ feet with Hanzo’s blood singing songs to him, so close it burned, the first tendrils of ecstasy a tangible thing in his lungs.

 

Would not have gone to the temple like a good son to say his vows if Hanzo was truly his mate. 

 

He’d be in Hanzo’s bed, blood drunk and exultant and boneless under his brother’s teeth.  

 

Genji is Hanzo’s, but Hanzo is not Genji’s.

 

He backs out of the temple, and returns to his room, glass in his heart that cuts him open with every beat.  Hanzo lays in bed and shakes all over, the need to go to Genji a living thing in him, until his whole body is on fire with it.  When he bites into himself to drink it is with a desperation that is almost frightening, but does little to calm the storm of panic roiling inside.

 

He passes out with his teeth still sunk into his skin, whining in his sleep, utterly broken.

 

-

 

Now Hanzo watches Genji from across the room and breaks all over again.  

 

Immortality has never felt like a burden.  A blessing at best, a duty at worst.  Forever a servant of his family, but they had the best interests of his kind at heart, and someone has to keep the tide of predators around Hanamura at bay.  

 

With eternity yawning out vast and immeasurable before him like the sea, holding nothing but the promise of emptiness, he feels his immortality like a stone.  Endless and inescapable, and Hanzo is already drowning.

 

He stares, unable to look away, as one of their unbonded kin pushes in closer to Genji.  Smiling wide, they lean in to whisper against Genji’s throat, nosing just beneath his ear.  Their fingers dip into the folds of his kimono, moving down to paw at his obi.  Familiar, lustful.

 

Hungry.

 

Genji’s eyes flit over to Hanzo.  They linger, flaring crimson bright, and Hanzo can’t bear witness to what inevitably comes next.  Cannot stand idly by as one of his nameless allies takes what should be his alone.  Then again, maybe Hanzo is wrong.

 

Maybe there is someone here who can sate Genji’s thirst.

 

Someone who can give his brother what he cannot.  Something shatters, down in his chest where Genji has always lived, and Hanzo wants to scream.

 

He turns, and leaves, carrying Genji with him even as he leaves him behind.

 

He doesn’t plan on going to Genji’s room, but it’s where Hanzo finds himself.  Genji’s bed is unmade, and Hanzo crawls into it without hesitation, and buries his face in the pillow.  When he breathes Genji in it’s shaky, air coming in stuttering gasps, and what he feels isn’t sadness or frustration or anger.  It’s grief.  

 

Mourning.

 

As though Genji has died, and left Hanzo all alone.

 

Hanzo rolls over and brings his wrist up to bite into the underside of his forearm, his other hand braced underneath it.  Blood pools in his mouth, a faded echo of what he needs, nowhere near enough.  It drips down over his knuckles, into his palm, and Hanzo reaches to untie his obi, to pull his kimono apart.  Who knows when he’ll get another chance like this, surrounded by Genji’s scent, tucked away in his blankets.

 

Hiding, pretending, the illusion of Genji’s presence keeping Hanzo warm.

 

It’s with some effort that he gets his clothes to fall open and takes himself in hand.  His fingers are still slick with blood as they close around his cock, hips twitching forward.  He mewls into his skin, a wet noise he’s unable to hold back, the taste of himself heady.  Hanzo has done this more than he likes to admit, but it’s different, sprawled out in Genji’s bed like he belongs there.  The silk of his kimono wrinkles underneath him, his hair wild against Genji’s pillow, crimson fluid streaking from his mouth.

 

It’s how Genji finds him, messy and falling to pieces.  Not really Hanzo.

 

The wreckage that's left of him.

 

Hanzo doesn’t notice him, at first, not until he’s already a few steps into the room, eyes vivid bright, mouth open, jaw trembling.

 

_ “Anija,”  _ he says, and Hanzo startles, arm dropping away from his lips, hand stilling on his arousal.

 

There is a moment where Genji is frozen, and Hanzo is snared in it, like something small and fragile in a spider’s web.  Flailing inside, yet already caught.  Anything he says or does will only entangle him further, and Hanzo’s eyes dwell on all the details of Genji he already knows by heart.

 

The constantly mussed strands of his hair, the fine curve of his cheekbones, the lithe trail of his fingers.  Open now, as though he isn’t sure what to do with them, hands hanging at his sides.  His kimono has come loose from everyone’s tugging, and Hanzo doesn’t want to look at it, the way Genji is bared for anyone to see.  He takes a breath, trying to summon words.  An apology, maybe,  _ I’m sorry I’m like this,  _ because it’s not Genji’s fault that Hanzo is so mangled inside.

 

Except there isn’t time, because Genji is on him.

 

He throws himself at the bed and climbs on top of Hanzo, a predator pinning his prey.  Genji licks over the gore on Hanzo's chin and groans, a pained noise, like it hurts to taste him.  He shoves his face into the crook of Hanzo’s neck and shudders, breathing in deep, hands sliding into Hanzo’s clothes to clutch at his skin.  Needy, demanding.

 

“It’s  _ you,”  _ Genji says, and it sounds accusing, like Hanzo has taken something from him.  “Gods, I knew it was you.  They were wrong, they  _ lied  _ to me, they…”  He huffs out a breath, nosing up over Hanzo’s jaw to look into his eyes, thumbing rough over Hanzo’s mouth.  “They said it couldn’t be you, but you had to know.  You feel it too, don’t you?”  There’s desperation in Genji’s face, raw and unguarded, so potent it makes Hanzo’s chest ache.  “You feel it, you have to,  Hanzo,  _ please-” _

 

It sounds like he’s about to cry, voice wavering, and Hanzo reaches up to cup Genji’s face with both hands.  Euphoria fills him, shining like moonlight on all the dark places inside Hanzo, until he is overflowing with it.

 

Genji is his, and Hanzo is alive like he’s never been.

 

“I thought I was imagining it.  I saw you at the temple, doing the binding, and you didn’t come to me, and-”  Hanzo trails off.  It’s still cutting, still fresh.

 

_ I thought it was me, wanting what wasn’t mine to take. _

 

Genji’s fingers are harsh on his face, digging in too hard, but Hanzo doesn’t mind.  He shakes his head back and forth, anger flashing in his eyes, teeth bared.

 

“Father and the elders stopped me in the hall outside my room.  They were waiting there, they…”  Genji laughs, dark and mirthless, and shakes his head again as he looks back up at Hanzo.  “It doesn’t matter, I don’t care.”  

 

Genji smiles, and it’s breathtaking.  He tangles his hand in Hanzo’s long hair, and tugs the silk of his kimono further apart, until Hanzo’s shoulder is exposed.  Leans in, eyes still open, and nudges their noses together, looking at Hanzo like he might disappear.

 

“You’re really mine?”  Genji asks, a whisper, barely there.

 

Hanzo tilts his head, arching his neck, putting it on display for Genji. 

 

Smooth and unmarked and begging for the kiss of Genji’s fangs.

 

“Yours,” Hanzo says, and it sounds like an oath, more sincere than any of his vows have ever been.  “Always.”

 

Genji surges forward, and his teeth sink into Hanzo’s throat viciously fast.  Like lightning, the strike of a snake.  

 

The sting of Genji’s canines in his skin the first time is rapturous, and there is no one in the world but the two of them, Hanzo and Genji tied together in shades of red that cannot be severed.  The sound he makes is obscene, somewhere between a growl and a moan, tongue laving at the wounds.  Shameless, and frantic.

 

Starved, and desiccated, and only Hanzo can make him whole.

 

Genji trembles as he drinks, hand fisting in Hanzo’s hair to hold him in place, as though he might try and escape.

 

As though he hasn’t been waiting all his life to be there, under Genji’s teeth, giving his brother all of himself.

 

As though he wouldn’t let Genji drink until he was empty, nothing left to give.

 

When he pulls back it’s not to stop drinking, but to bite Hanzo a second time.  Genji does it again, and again, until there are marks littering the side of Hanzo’s throat, blood pouring down neck, over his chest.  Each new bite makes Hanzo’s entire body jerk, cock pulsing against Genji’s robes, arousal eating him alive.  

 

It’s not clean, the way Genji drinks.  He laps and sucks, pausing to rub his face through the mess he’s made before latching back onto Hanzo’s throat.  Hanzo can hear him swallowing, can feel the blood dripping out of his wounds and into Genji’s mouth.  The next time Genji breaks away Hanzo smiles, stroking the hair out of his eyes, affection welling in him.  Genji groans and mouths his way up to Hanzo’s lips.

 

Their first kisses are blood-wet and filthy, Genji’s fangs sharp against Hanzo’s tongue.  He murmurs in between them, hushed and reverent, like the words of a prayer.

 

_ “Gods…  _ anija, you taste so good... fuck.”

 

Then Genji kisses him hard, and his lip snags on one of Hanzo’s teeth in their frenzy.  The taste of Genji hits Hanzo like a blow, the single drop on his tongue a revelation, and Hanzo isn’t sure what makes Genji pull back.  The noise he makes, or the way he jerks like he’s been struck, or how he chases after Genji’s mouth for more of him.  Realization dawns over his face, and he’s suddenly wide eyed and earnest, stroking through Hanzo’s hair, clutching at his cheeks.

 

“Oh, Hanzo,” he says, and tilts his head to the side, tugging Hanzo’s mouth up against his throat, talking too fast, “you’ve waited so long, I’m sorry.  I’m sorry, please,  _ please,  _ take it, take-”

 

Genji’s flesh gives way beautifully under his fangs.

 

Blood pours over his tongue, over his lips, and Hanzo keens like he’s dying.  

 

_ Genji, Genji. _

 

Genji is his.

 

Gravity realigns itself to pull them tighter together, the mate bond settling into place, and Hanzo never wants to be anywhere but here.  He spreads his thighs wider, tugging Genji in between them, grinding up into him as he takes, and takes, and takes.

 

The only bites that scar their kind are those given between mates during their first time together, and tradition dictates a single set of teeth, etched politely into their throats.  Right over their pulse point, so ubiquitous it feels like the marks appear on their own, rather than being put there with intent.  Hanzo cannot remember ever seeing anyone with more than two, a scandalous thing, someone who could not control their instincts.

 

He savages Genji, as he’s been savaged, and no one will ever look at him without thinking of Hanzo.  Bites, and drinks, and bites again, Genji gasping for air and struggling out of his clothes, gory fingers easing down between Hanzo’s thighs.  Hanzo clutches at Genji’s hair, kissing over the wounds he makes, nuzzling into them.  He catches stray rivulets with his hands, and shoves his own fingers into his mouth to lick at them, unwilling to waste it even as more fluid seeps down Genji’s chest.

 

That he cannot drink all of Genji at once is a tragedy.

 

When Genji presses in to work him open Hanzo throws his head back with a moan, rutting down onto his hand, hips rolling into the sensation.  The breath of space between them does not last long, Genji leaning forward to offer the other side of his throat as he twists his fingers within Hanzo.  Hanzo doesn’t hesitate to bite into Genji again, everything spinning around him as Genji grinds his arousal into Hanzo’s thigh.  He’s speaking, and it takes a moment for Hanzo to process what he’s saying, all of it running together, voice dark with need.

 

“I love you so much, anija, I love you,” Genji says, and Hanzo whines into Genji’s neck in answer.

 

He wants to say it back, but can’t bear to be parted from Genji’s skin long enough to get the words out.

 

“Shhh, it’s fine, I know,”  he says, rearranging himself, kimono slipping down his arms.  Genji withdraws his fingers from Hanzo and settles in closer between his knees, rubbing the slick head of his cock against him.  Presses in, the tip of his crown breaching Hanzo, and the stretch is delicious, but not enough.  “Hanzo, Hanzo let me fuck you, let me-”

 

Hanzo rocks down onto him, taking all of Genji in one slow, inexorable slide.  His thighs fall wide, and Genji catches his breath, panting.  He touches Hanzo everywhere, like he can’t stop himself, hands roving over his chest, running wet through the blood still oozing down his neck.

 

Genji gets his fangs in Hanzo again, both of them drinking at once, and the bliss is utterly overwhelming.  Ecstasy in its purest form, and nothing will ever be better than this, taking from Genji as he is taken.

 

Genji fucks like he’s trying to break Hanzo into pieces.  Folds him and twists him and tugs at him, and Hanzo goes pliant, and lets Genji do as he likes.  Their eyes stay lit up, brilliant red and ethereal.  They’re both hungry, and it’s violent, and rough, and unmerciful.  

 

Hanzo is in love, and it’s sweet, and soft, and worshipful.  

 

It is a long time before they go still again, wrapped up tightly in one another, kissing like they won’t get another chance.  Genji licks indulgently into Hanzo’s mouth, making pleased little noises in the back of his throat, arms coiled around his brother.  There is blood everywhere, covering their faces, hands painted red.  It mats in Hanzo’s hair.  Drips weakly from their throats, soaks into their kimonos.  Hanzo’s back is streaked in gore, and there are bite marks on the insides of his thighs, and on his chest, and his wrist.  Genji did not escape unscathed.  He wears Hanzo’s teeth all over, now.  Both sides of his throat, on his bicep, and his shoulders.  The palm of one hand, his knuckles, his thumb.  Not really Genji anymore.

 

The wreckage that’s left of him in Hanzo’s wake.

 

It’s like this that Sojiro finds them, the wet sounds of their kisses loud in the quiet of the room.  They only realize he’s there after he clears his throat, and even then they only pause for a moment, both shooting him a glare before picking up where they left off.  Modesty is for humans, not the Shimada clan, and they don’t have the patience for his interruptions.  Sojiro is messy, too, blood on his hands and face and clothes, not that they notice.  He laughs, leaning against the door frame, and crosses his arms.

 

“I appreciate you managing to hold yourselves back from bonding until I could get the clans gathered.  Only the awakening of an unmated Shimada was going to draw the Arai elders here from the south, and, well,” Sojiro pauses, looking at the blood on his fingernails, smiling, “I desperately needed to speak with them.”

 

When he doesn’t leave right away Hanzo turns and hisses at him, fangs long and glinting in the light.  Sojiro laughs again, shaking his head, far too amused.

 

“All right, all right.  Later, then.”

 

He retreats down the hall, not bothering to close the door.  

 

Hanzo rolls them, straddling Genji’s hips as he noses along his jaw, breathing in slow.    A particularly deep bite mark catches his eye, and he sinks his teeth back into it, reveling in the way it makes Genji shiver underneath him.  Genji looks debauched when he eases back, a beast after the slaughter, pupils blown and eyes half lidded.  He reaches up to trace Hanzo’s lips with his fingertips, gentle, worshipful.  Then he presses his index finger deliberately into one of Hanzo’s fangs, until blood wells from the wound.  Genji watches, spellbound, as Hanzo sucks it into his mouth, eyes flaring, tongue swirling and twisting against him.  

 

It should be enough, all the blood he’s taken from Genji.  They’re wretched with it, sticky and slick and ruined, drugged with the taste of each other.  It should be enough, but it’s not. 

 

Hanzo could drink from Genji forever.  Could stay at his throat for hours and still want more.

 

He lays down next to him, teeth finding purchase effortlessly in Genji’s skin, and settles there, nursing lazily at the liquid that pools in his mouth.  His eyes flutter closed, muscles relaxing, breath evening out.

 

Genji curls around him.  Kisses at his hair, and whispers low, lavishing praises on him.  Hanzo drifts off to the taste of Genji’s blood, and the sound of Genji’s voice, and Genji…

 

Genji is  _ his. _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Give me some love, my guys. On anon, if you're anxious. Especially with this pairing, it's always nice to get good vibes from you guys. Please and thank you.


End file.
